Archive of Our Own ^beta

Now I acknowledge this is not the best way to start a story or rather retelling of true events but in my defense, I suck at writing stories anyway. There’s always a great or strong beginning (much like this one, really makes you wonder why I started in first person doesn’t it?). There is a direction, a theme, there are characters that the story drives on, there are rules and the flow makes sense, but the longer I write the more ambiguous and up for interpretation those rules become and the more senseless the initial sense seems. There is never an end, maybe because I don’t like endings, everything always has to go somewhere, build up to something, and yet sometimes I just want to stay in the moment and describe the plants at the side of the road,  the squint in someone’s eye, or the picture of an old couple in a just as old bar that has likely hung on the wall for as long as the place existed. I can't keep up with myself, can’t keep up with my thoughts, I keep maybe a hundred works in progress in my notepad that is such a mess from all the bumps in the road that it is even illegible to me sometimes and I know how it seems when we’re driving to yet another state for yet another case and I’m sitting there cursing to myself because I thought of a way better word for what I wanted to express 5 pages ago (not that those pages are large, it fits in my pockets, my pockets are rather large though so I guess it’s all up for interpretation), it’s hard to write, less hard to motivate myself to write because I’m always thinking anyway, and with the things we see? Plenty of so-called fictional to go around. This story will be different though, different than all the ones I have ever written, different from the pages you will find in my bag, in my jacket, underneath my pillow, in every corner of every place I have ever existed in, because you already know the characters, you already know what we did. I don’t have to tell you how we got here, today, in this run-down motel room with your clothes thrown all over the floor. I don’t have to tell you what Cass did, what you did, what I did and am going to do, seeing the limited amount of paper I have left I must try not to ramble, even though there is so much I feel like I should tell you before I finish, before I go, but I’m sure the things I don’t tell you you’re smart enough to know or think of in your own time. My name is Sam Winchester, and this is my goodbye.

As mentioned I wont and don’t have to give the whole pre-history of today but since I still want this to be a story I will give you this: Castiel broke the wall in my head, opened purgatory, disappeared or died I don’t know (our deaths are more like Schrodinger's cat lately), and lucifer now haunts my every waking moment. You know this because you were there, you held my hand while I told you how he looked at me, you calmed me down while he was trying to trick me into going with him, and you even yelled at my hallucination when I was. I never told you you were looking in a totally wrong direction, I appreciated the effort too much, and once I realized what was happening it was actually kind of funny how you tried, your face in that frown you give when you try to act mad, your finger pointing at nothing, your accusatory glance when I started laughing, your comfort, your smile as our fingers wrapped around the other’s. I want you, need you, and need you to understand that I appreciated all of that. I know I promised you less than what is now 4 hours ago that even with the devil himself screaming in my ear that I would keep trying, that this thing was us against the world, but I just needed you to go to sleep because I know that you and Dean are the only people that could talk me off this ledge. I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing the disappointment on your face, your impossible-to-argue-with arguments, you might have threatened to slap me if I didn’t get my act together, maybe you actually would have, because you care about things even in ways I couldn’t, you wouldnt have taken no as an answer and I can’t disappoint you again.

When Dean left roughly a week ago to ‘look for solutions’ (knowing him by now I think he has found his solution at the bottom of a beer bottle) I was ready to go, but you showed up at this crappy room’s door at just the right moment, told me I still owed you that hunt and so we did. That hunt, our final hunt, gave me the best final days I could ask for, even now sitting here, watching the blanket on our bed go up and down to the rhythm of your breathing, your face relaxed as if nothing is wrong in the world I want nothing more than to hit the road with you again, to shout dumb love songs at the top of our lungs with the windows down, to fake fight in public to get clues, to see your face light up at a monster you claim you have never seen before again, but I’m tired, I can’t sleep, and the next thing I shoot might not be a piece of metal, the next person I get mad at might not be able or willing to fight back. I won’t selfishly get you in that kind of danger just to have you around me, instead I will selfishly keep you safe by finally deciding on the end of a story for once. I understand that this might be hard to understand and I don’t want to imagine the look on your face when you wake up tomorrow, I’m sorry, so sorry for everything I put you through, I’m sorry I could never be who you deserved, I’m sorry for all the trouble, for the sleepless nights, the phonecalls, the begging. I owe you my love in a thousand lifetimes for the things you did for me, and I promise you to love you in a thousand more, even though I know I told you I didn’t like that word my last selfish act will be telling you that I like saying it to you. When you wake I will be gone but know that I will always watch over you. My love, may angels make way and demons quiver at your feet.

For your sake, don’t look for me, let me go.

I love you.

- Yours